Brain Working Again!

It's late and that is when some of my best thoughts formulate.

Tonight this is what came uninvited:

I know we are struggling with a world that is supposedly over-populated (but how many people really live in north Russia and the deserts in Africa?), but if we stopped having kids...like if we decided, as a world, that there were to be no more kids born after...October 2012 (to give those babies just conceived a chance)...and there were NO more babies born...the human race would be EXTINCT by October 2114 more or less, depending on our medical advances!

In just one hundred years, give or take, there would be no more humans on Earth. Scary thought, huh?

Good night! Sweet dreams!

A bunny to thank!

E and I were extremely fortunate that we had a bit of warm weather last week so we could visit the San Diego Wild Animal Park with Granmama and Poppops! I was a bit tired so we didn't make it out the door until rather late, but G & P were quite good sports about the slow pregnant one keeping the pace so slow that old people with walkers were able to outrun us! Nevertheless, we finally made it to the park!

Friendly folks at the gate! Friendly folks at the turnstiles! What a time to visit the park! There was very few people who can visit during the week during the school year...I might have mentioned this in another blog so I am sorry if it sounds redundant!

A friendly employee overheard Mom and I discussing the complications of renting a scooter (we rented one at the San Diego zoo which worked out wonderfully as we took turns riding it). This kind person deserves a kiss! A raise! A bonus! She could see that I was either quite pregnant or quite fat and there was my mother with a cane, and a stroller with a toddler strapped in it.

This kind lady suggested we take the handicap shuttle to the Safari tram. Just a short walk past the caroseul and we were ushered to another loading station that was 200 feet or so from the tram loading area. What a kind soul to offer this service to us especially since I was feeling quite tired and wondered how we would manage two scooters!

God bless this unnamed lady!

When we arrived at the tram station, the guide was very friendly, but quick to let us know that instead of waiting for the next tram, we could kill the time watching the Cheetah dash. While Poppops wandered around, Granmama, E, and I went straight to see the cheetah run. Along the way we spotted a little brown rabbit who looked full grown and was about the size of a house cat. It sat in front of us on the walkway nibbling into some kind of strange yellow vegetable that I didn't recognize. It looked like a very small squash, but without the neck of a squash. The bunny was not the least bit concerned that two large humans and one small noisy human were right in it's path staring at it. I think I recognized this rabbit...looked awfully familiar. Put a little blue jacket on and I would call it Peter, assuming it is a he! I knew this one was not the thief in my garden, but perhaps a thief in the San Diego Wild Animal Park! Very happy to nibble, he wasn't worried by our presences until we tried to move past him. He left his snack quite quickly, but I reassured Mom that this furry critter would probably return (he didn't as the snack was still there when we returned).

I am very glad I had the opportunity to share this bunny moment with both my daughter and my mother and for the first time in months, I began to feel a bit creative again. Ever since I had returned to Bogota after my visit to Blacksburg, Virginia, I slowly lost my creative writing skills as I became more ill each day. It was terribly frustrating and the first time in my life where I could no longer make up stories and songs for my three children. Even my dreams at night dried up as if the bit of oxygen I breathed in could only be used for very most important tasks...growing a baby inside!

My son was surprised that I had no more stories for him at night. My daughter, well...I am sure she was worried in her own teen way...but outwardly she would just hug me and encourage me not to worry. But I was worried! Never before had I been out of ideas for stories and up until I saw the bunny on the trail, I had been on a 'dry spell' when it came to using my imaginative juices. It was horribly boring going day after day without an adventure, a story being created in my head!

Thank you, bunny. I know, you aren't an employee of the zoo so there are no bonuses for you, no raises...and I am not sure I would even want to kiss you! Still, after seeing you, things got to moving! Two other stories that I had been whacking out on the keyboard at home sprang to life and a few more popped up, including one that I posted a few days ago. The poem was written about Bogota.

Affer the encounter with the bunny, we went to see the cheetahs run. Unfortunately, E wanted to look at the "kitty cats" that were bigger than her and behind a thick glass. So even though Granmama's favorite cat is the cheetah, she told me to watch while she went with E to see the kitties, I mean, lions!

By the way...
There are no rabbits living with the lions, only trees and old range rovers! Rabbits are too smart!

A window into my home

I live up in the mountains of Colombia, in a vast ocean of buildings clustered together, sheltering a mixed nation from the beautiful grey drops of rain pouring down from Bogota's sky.

I listen to the sound of hooves on pavement, the carts rattling at the joints, and the soft Spanish of the Colombian people mix with engines and tires of sleek cars. 

Smells of roasted corn, rain dripping from roofs, and fresh green vegetation tingled my nostrils as I sip my black coffee and eat a giant wafer smeared with condensed milk and Arequipa, a Colombian caramel treat.

I am a foreigner, yet if I don't open my mouth, maybe I can blend just a little in the crowd of high boots, tight jeans, colorful scarves, and fashionable black sweaters.

Here, where the clouds hang low and the oxygen is limited, my mind is excited by this rich city and its eclectic differences than my own. Looking out the window in the car, I pass old buildings and new, and see history changing every day as Bogota dismisses its past as runs forward into the future. I sit on the tail of this progress, mourn the passing yesterdays, yet eagerly await to see what unfolds tomorrow.

Bogota, Colombia-not a sinlge blog until now

I never wrote about Bogota before now. I dont know why I didn't even consider doing it. Maybe I was afraid that what I would offend one or both parities involved ...the United States and Colombia. But now that I have come stateside, I find that so often people don't know anything about Colombia.

I find myself saying the following phrase often, "I live in Bogota, Colombia...you know, South America?"

I figure, the person may be half listening and thinks I am talking about a city named Colombia that is in the United States.

I barely knew anything about Colombia before I came to live there. Books were misleading about what I should expect and there were very few blogs to read about Bogota. I had thought of compiling something for children, but then we moved twice and other crazy things were absorbing my time so I didn't write about Bogota at all. Now that I am stateside, I will have to wait until I return to write about life there, but I could write about how San Diego differs from Bogota in my experience!

For example, today we were at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and a family was walking towards me and for the 10th time this week (and it's only Monday) I had to remind myself to not stare. This time the family were of African descent. Rewind! They were African Americans! By their accent, dress, and mamnerism, I would say they were at least 4 generation American. Why did I have to stop staring? For the last 15 months of living in Bogota, the only African-Americans I ever run across are at the Embassy. There are a few Colombians who live in the area who are of a darker skin than most Colombians (who are said to be from the coast), but I have never seen more than 3 in a group. Earlier today I saw a family who clearly had brought their homeland with them. All the women wore their hair in very long braids which laid across their very colorful saris while the men wore light colored linen-like clothes and sandals. They probably were Americans, but again I caught myself looking because in the area of Bogota where I live I have never seen Indians from India dressed in traditional garb. Here in San Diego it is quite common to see people from different ethnic backgrounds; I wonder what it is like living someplace like China for two years and then coming back to the United States. Talk about culture shock!

Time and family

20 more days before I see M, G, and J. The closer I get to them, the happier...yet, this means I will be THAT much closer to THE BIRTH.

Time.

It's been over a week since my last entry and there were many times I wanted to write. Fortunately, I listened to my body instead and went to sleep.

Without my two other kids and husband, life is quite mundane. Still, I only have so much energy and if I put off writing until night time, there isn't any energy left.

Now it is 10am which seems to be a much better time, but it's harder to write as I know there are chores to be done. Yes, even living in a room instead of a house, there are chores. In addition to E being herself and having to keep behind her in the tidying department, I am also amazed by how I can make messes as well. So every day there are chores.

And errands. And food prep most of the time as my parents cooking differs slightly than mine. They try and quite often succeed in making vegetarian meals, but sometimes this pregnancy tells me I have to eat something else.

Granted, this is much better than when I was pregnant living in Bogota. There, I had no appetite.

And still gained 4.5 lbs a week.

Here, I have an appetite and am no longer gaining which means I am losing a little while the baby is gaining a little.

29 weeks. Augh!

Sorry! I just panic a little when I think I only have 11 more weeks. It's no biggie once I have this little human outside of me, it's just the getting out of me part that scares me half to death!

I think my baby wants out now. She kicks, pushes, and elbows the top and lower half of my front belly as if she is doing gymnastics. Maybe she knows she has an older brother to keep up with and is practicing already.

In spite of all these ramblings, I actually have something to write about. It's rather a delicate matter and I wonder if any of my family members who might read this would feel insulted so I am, as usual, leaving names out of this entry. Unfortunately, it will be quick to figure out who I am talking snout, but I feel quite inclined to write anyway because I am trying to figure out why I...let's start from the beginning.

Just before I left Bogota, I cleaned out and reorganized the cabinets in the kitchen. I had not been feeling well to maintain the kitchen and so things were starting to go a bit crazy. Got beans? Yes, but you have to look in 6 different places rather than one place. Have crackers? Yes, but they are going to be stale because no one put them in a ziplock bag and sealed out the air. I began working in the cracker/snack pantry and found about 20 sandwich-sized bags filled with misc. crackers. The crackers were not stale because they were exposed to air. They were stale because of age. I tried tasting a few, but tossed the whole bunch when I found that the ones I randomly tasted would probably be rejected by the local ducks. I asked J if suddenly our empleada started keeping everything and why would she start to do that. He reminded me that we had family living with us and it reminded him of the stories I used to tell him about another family member who did this all the time. Let's call this person Susan. Ephiany! I just thought this person did this because it was a characteristic trait of this person. Use it up until it is gone. Don't throw it away because you paid for it, now use it. I understand this, yet if the food no longer tastes good and has technically gone bad (even though it's not moldy), it's time to let it go. Also, saving one fourth of a cookie and one cracker and half a slice of bread isn't going to save any money, not really. What are we talking about? Pennies? And is it worth trying to gag it down just to save a few pennies? Getting sick and having to buy Pepto-Bismo would waste the whole wad of money you saved from keeping the old food.

I had always thought that the keeping of tidbits was part of Susan's ability to manage the day on so few calories. Susan didn't keep the morsels of food in her bags because she wanted to save it to munch on it later only as a form of dieting, but also because she saw this habit from when she was very little.

And really, what does it hurt to keep leftovers? It doesn't, but it is just part of a bigger picture which I am slowly getting to. Actually, in a sad roundabout way, it explains why I am always trying to become more like a minimalist.

I am not trying to become a minimalist to save money. I am trying to become a minimalist to regain some of my time.

But I feel that I have jumped too far ahead! Just like my taste buds demand better food, my eyes demand better clothes. This pertains to me, my hubby, and my children. I don't want to wear clothes that have stains on them and I don't want to receive hand-me-down clothes that have stains or holes all over them. Why? I have been asking myself this for days now, trying to figure out why I was being so snobby. Then it hit me. Sure, those clothes are free, but then I am not so dirt poor that I and my children have to wear stained clothes. If we were poor AND lived in a 3rd world country, I could see how I might be grateful and wear stained clothes. But I don't live in a 3rd world country and can go buy non-stained, non-stretched out, non-hole-y clothes at a thrift store for a dollar. I know that if I thought that I was not poor, at some point this would slip out in my speech when I was trying to explain why I don't want my children to dress in stained clothes. I would quickly be reminded that if I spent 'willy-nilly' I would never be rich, that I would always be one step closer to living in the 'poor house'. I would be reminded that this was how my family climbed out of poverty and were able to have what they have now debt-free because they waited and didn't buy things at regular prices.

They were very poor and literally pulled themselves up by their bootstraps.

They climbed out of poverty, but the idea of it hangs right behind them. This is often the case when people struggle to live. Look at 'Betty', another family member. Until the day she died, she kept everything and used it over and over again. Coffee grounds were used two or three times. Shampoo was monitored. Dryer sheets were a waste of money, but if given as a gift, they were used over and over again until they fell apart. Granted, Betty grew up in the Depression era and when her parents lost everything, they had to go pick oranges in another state to survive.

So both families struggled to get out of poverty and therefore, their children learned the value of the dollar. And now their children must live with the idea that they, too, are just one step away from extreme poverty. I assume the children were constantly at war with this which is why I should gratefully wear stained shirts and eat morsels of old food because I am one step from being '3rd world country' super extreme dirt poor.

I'm not, of course. But instead of being able to live and think like a person who has achieved status and wealth, my family and I are chained to living like those that were extremely poor.

Most of my family has been able to enjoy some of their purchases, but there are still members in the family, like Susan, who are not able to enjoy spending any money that they have earned. Instead, they would rather tape up their shoes, wear stained, stretched out, faded, hole-y clothes than to buy some new gently-used ones because it saves a few more dollars.

What is ironic is then these dollars are still uses elsewhere. Gas has to be bought to drive to the store to buy food to eat. I'm surprised cars are a necessity. I thought that was for well-to-do people, not people that are one step up from extreme poverty.

Yet, the rules aren't this simple. Some things are fine to spend money on. A regular coffee at Starbucks is fine. A second car is okay, trips to the beach (gas prices, anyone?) are fine, pets are okay...trips overseas are also cool. And that's just my own family that I am talking about!

So as I try to figure out why my family members think like they do (both sides, including the in-laws), I learn a lot more about myself and my "quirks" on spending money and am quite grateful...

that I have had John in my life for the last 18 years. Sure, I used to feel that he didn't put that much thought into his purchases, but now I realize that he does.

Quality over quantity.

Buy what you want, enjoy it, but limit yourself.

I like this a lot better than some of the other lessons that I have learned from both sides
Of the family.

As for those stained clothes, I will just graciously accept them and then like any good family member should do, I will graciously accept them.

P.s. On red meat and spankings!

Major typos and no way of going back to fix them, at least not know! I am new to the IPad and find that often as I type automatically IPad wants to figure out the words I am typing. It plunks the words in. If i don't immediately change it, I have a difficult time fixing it. So I will fix the typos on my laptop when I have time to walk 100 stairs down to the office (without Emma)so I can have wi-fi on my laptop to fix it. In the meantime, you will have to just figure out wha I was trying to say.

Also, my second post came up originally as my first post. Really odd. I fixed that in a heartbeat, but if you receive my posts via email, you might want to go to the blog itself and read part two about meat and spankings. I actually talk about spankings!

Red Meat and Spankings: good for you, part 2

Food is a cultural thing. Everyone knows that. Second night I was in San Diego, my Mom fried up a bunch offside okra (she's originally from Alabama) and couldn't understand why I would eat only half a cup. I wasn't hungry. What? Not hungry?

My mother-in-law, L, is very much the same way. She's not from Alabama, but she starts off planning a meal by figuring out what meat to serve. Soy milk? Why drink that when you can have good ole cows milk? It's a cultural thing and I have learned to accept that it's engrained in most humans to adapt a certain culture and live by it. I'm fine with this.

So when my mother-in-law is serving meat that is cooked 'rare' and calls 'medium rare' cooked, I have learned to look the other way. It's only a meal or two since we don't live in the same state. If it happens too often, I speak up...but for the most part, I don't. If it makes my mom and mother-in-law so happy that they are jumping in their rain boots that they got a chance to stuff meat down my kids...and it's only a meal or two...I'm okay.

Until they forget and decide to be mean.

Ah, the meany. I don't think it's intentional, but let's see it my way. I am biting my tongue. I am being polite. Why doesn't this work both ways?

The next morning, after my son ate some of the oozing red pig butt (roast beef), he got up for breakfast. L was busy making him pancakes with an unfortunate batter that I had bought and lugged into her house. It was a whole wheat blueberry pancake mix, but because I had not bothered to read the ingredients like I usually do, I was not aware that the blueberries were artificial.

Yuck.

This made the pancakes taste yuck. I wasn't going to eat them so I pulled out my waffles, made my special sauce, and began to chow down. First E saw them. Then G. They both wanted some and G wanted it with the special sauce which is hot peanut butter and syrup. L sees this happening and I apologize for it because she had, indeed, been making pancakes for the kids. Oops! Granted, this was not intential at all to waste her time as I didn't know the kids were going to want what I was eating!

While I was sitting over this issue of upstaging L's preparation of breakfast, L approaches G and asks him what the sauce was. He tells her. And then she said the word.

"Yuck."

What?

My own ears fell on my plate. Peanut butter and syrup mixed together is yuck? Sure, the syrup had high fructose corn syrup in it, but it's the only thing I could find in the cupboard.

I didn't say anything.

Just to make sure that G and I heard L, she said the same comment two more times in the next five minutes about the "special sauce".

I wasn't mad. I was in shock.

So quickly, speaking directly to G, I said that it was okay if his grandmother didn't like the sauce because everyone has their own likes and dislikes...like, oh, for example, some people don't like meat.

There. I said it. G agreed with me and said it was okay if his Nani didn't like the sauce because it meant more for him. There's my boy! Just like his mom, sticking a little humor into an otherwise sticky situation.

Sure, "special sauce" is my recipe...just like I had explained to L and although I could be offended that she called my personal recipe "yuck" I was more shocked than anything. Um, protein, anyone? Doesn't peanut butter have a large fat content and high cholesterol? It's just like...meat!! Except, it never frolicked in the green meadows (but neither did that roast beef).

Shocked that I had kept my mouth shut when I could very well have said "yuck", yet someone older than me couldn't resist. Then I remembered.

Old school.

The younger generation, at least years ago, kept their mouth shut and respected their elders. Oops! Forgot that one so many times! Old school: eat your meat.

Pink Floyd has some favorite lyrics: eat your meat or you can't have any pudding. I say, skip the meat, sprinkle granola and nuts on your pudding, and chow down! It's healthier for you.

So meat isn't good for me, Mommi. How come I have to eat it?

Shut up and eat your meat or you can't have any pudding...or at least at your grandparents house. When I get back home to Bogota, you can guarantee that the only time you will be biting into a once living animal is at school or if Daddy cooks.

I know, I know. The next question is,why do I have the word "spanking" in my title?

Well, I certainly didn't want to pick out one little incident in a two week period and pick on one person for one little thing, so I thought it would be informative if I added that my mother is also old school.

She believes in spankings.

It's never too early.

How early, Mom? 1 year? 6 months? She didn't answer. I am assuming it's either because she couldn't hear me over Emma's screaming or she was just too angry that I wouldn't spanking my 20 month old when she didn't want to get in her car seat for the 4th day in a row.

I have spanked my son a dozen times in his life and have hated it every time. Every spanking is the same. One swat on the butt. I was spanked repeatedly as a child, and it had always hurt me that my parents thought it was okay to hurt me. I don't see the link between spanking and 'learning a leaaon'. In extreme situations where my son was completely disobedient I have used it as a threat (oops) and found I had to follow through. I know spanking is controversial, but I am definitely against it.

Especially for a 20 month old. But my mother is old school.

She's convinced that the Bible verse, "spare the rod spoil the child" means, "(if you) spare the rod (you will) spoil the child.

If I was to let a series of books that tell me to cover my adornments, not accept blood, and war with my neighbors if they don't follow my God, then I guess my translation of that verse would be, "spare the rod (and) spoil the child (with love and time).

So for several days, while Emma had her regular issues, my mother was convinced that the cure would be a good spanking.

Finally, we were in the car yesterday and Emma had another meltdown about the car seattle and the thought came to me...if this was L saying this, you would probably give in just to make peace and not rock the boat. Why are you arguing with your mother? Sure, you don't agree with it, but you also don't want your kids eating medium rare meat and they do at your MIL's house...so why not try one spanking one time.

So while Emma had her back arched fussing about how she didn't want to sit in her car seat, I gave a small slap on her butt. With the cloth diaper and then pants over it, I think it might have been just enough for her to look down and wonder what was going on. Then she decided she didn't like that and began to howl louder than before. She cried all the way home while Mom tried to say, above her crying, "hush" in firm tones.

That was the last discussion that Mom has had with me in regards to spanking.

Of course, being who I am, I had to point out that if we had just ignored E and stuck her in the car seat, she would have stopped complaining within a minute. Instead, we had to listen to her complain all the way home.

Old school. It's not all a bed of roses. Old school is old for a reason. Most of it was left behind, an ancestor to today's thought.



Sometimes that's why old school of thoughts are left in yesterday. Mustard yellow (baby poop) colored couches covered in plastic? Old school. Children out of car seats, left to roam a moving vehicle while the window is completely rolled down? Old school. Liver for breakfast? Eat 3 big meals a day? Go for a drive on Sunday? Children must remain seen and not heard? Old school.

Meat? Hello? Old school. Spankings? Ditto. So why do our Moms cling so tightly to old school. I think it's because they don't realize it is old school and really, am I the one to educate them, to change their mind?

Yes and no.

It's a hard job, so I don't want to. But sometimes I have to, at least for the sake of my kids. If L wants to feed a cow to her other grandchildren, then that's what she can do. And if my sister is wholeheartedly spanking her kids because she believes in it, fantastic-o.

But for me, I have seen the results of speaking up. My MIL now is on the recycling committee. For the last 15 years, I have been digging cans, bottles, and cardboard out of her trash cans, gently reminding her that those items are recyclable. My mother now calls the doctor when she has pain. For years it was me having to badger and beg her to call when she was sick. See, it works when you gently encourage someone to change for the better.

It's also painful. But, not as painful as...


Eating meat (your poor heart cries every time)!

Spankings!








(to be cont'd)

Red Meat and Spankings: good for you?

I'm not much into "old school" on many things. Snail mail (mail that requires writing on a piece of paper, looking up the address, using an envelope, and finding a postage stamp)? Not so much. Decor from the 60's? Yuck. Classic cars? Nice to look at, but I like my modern conveniences. Snooze tube surfing what's on? T.v. Guide? Magazine subscription? House phone? bill paid by mail? Old school.

How about red meat? Old school. There are better and cheaper ways to get all the protein you need without having to chew on what once (hopefully) frolicked in the green fields next to Momma. Tell me the last time an article was written about the proper handling and health risks associated with nuts, beans, tofu, textured vegetable protein, dark leafy green vegetables, quinoa, and other high protein or high mineral non-animal foods. Ah, you can't, right?

Because there is none!

I debated writing this post for many days because I didn't want family members to feel like I wad picking on them, but since no family member (that I know of) ever reads my blog, I think it's safe to mention that I am a very "good" daughter-in-law as I did not say at any time, "yuck" when I saw what looked like a very grey butt of a pig with red sores oozing all over it's cheeks. It was actually roast beef and I had to run from the room by the sight of it, but I didn't even groan or whimper. I wanted to have a funeral for the butt of this pig, but had to remind myself that it had actually come from somewhere inside of a cow. Still, it looked like it belonged in a horror sci-fi medical movie. I expected Robin Cook to step out from behind the curtain and tell me that this oozing chunk of muscle was a prop for his next novel.

Dig in, everyone!

I kept my mouth shut when I watched my mother-in-law carry on a plastic platter thin slices of pink meat to my youngest. I could only nodd politely when she said she had cooked it just a little longer for E. Why was it still a deep pink? Wasn't meat supposed to be brown when it is cooked? Yet, I kept my mouth shut because I was tired, recovering from the high altitude of Bogota, and more importantly, grateful that the whole family, including J, was in a vacation!

I was, indeed, a very good daughter-in-law. We were going to be in Houston for two weeks and I didn't want to say or do anything that would positively upset my in-laws and not letting my kids eat meat would be devasting to them. So I just kept my mouth shut.

Good girl, Mary, good girl.

(to be cont'd)

Arrived in San Diego-organized chaos

It's a good thing that my husband doesn't read my blog or he would flip out. I saw my sister.

I know, I know. What am I thinking, right? I am playing with fire. I'm crazy doing this. Really?

Truthfully, it's different this time. I am in a different place. This is a different niche in time than before. I have changed. F has changed. It's almost like I have stepped through a portal and am visiting a different earth with the same characters who are the same in many aspects, but who have different personalities. I don't feel clingy. I don't feel like I have to make our relationship close. I don't feel like I have to rush in and try to help. I just am and so is she.

I have been here for 5 days and have seen my sister...at the restaurant, at my parents apartment, at her house, and even spent an afternoon with her as she took me to the park & to pick up her oldest daughter. So it's been nearly every day that I have seen her, but just for a little bit. And it's not been awkward or stressed. Maybe it's partially because I am not my usual crazy hyper self that wants to do and talk. Instead, like a quiet non- brain eating zombie, I sort of just hang out. Breathe the same oxygen. This might be a nice change for F. Who knows, but whatever it is, it's different. Maybe she feels less pressure this time to be pushing me into her life and hectic schedule because I don't have as much energy. Nevertheless, it is a nice change.

The same went for when I went to see my sister-in-law, P, in Houston. Did we grow up? There weren't any awkward questions asked, any uncomfortable conversation that I didn't have to try and figure out how to answer. I was not bouncing around like a bee and maybe this relaxed P. I wasn't right there involved in her personal space as I was often sleeping so maybe that created a stress-free environment for her. Whatever the reasons, it was different this time and such a nice change, too.

So between the two women, the two female family members in my life, I have found a new and comfortable spot. Where there was once chaos there is now a zen like calmness. It's an organized space in time. I exist. You exist. Let's just be. That's easy and I really like it. No more do we have to struggle to prove ourselves. Let's just share the same space peacefully and chill.

Arrived in San Diego-now what?

Sunday through today I have spent my time settling in when I am not resting. This is a necessary evil, but time consuming. Still, I am happy! I am mostly free of headaches (minus a few scattered ones), am not exhausted, and except for one particular hour one day, I no longer suffer from nausea! What a glorious life being able to live again! Yesterday I was able to visit the library for the first time since arriving to the United States on November 1st and just the smell excited me. So many books to choose from, so many things to learn!

Arrived in Houston, Texas, USA!

We arrived Houston on Tuesday, November 1st at 4:30pm. The afternoon was a blur as it mostly consisted of suitcases and family time with the in-laws. Wednesday consisted of two naps and lower back pain, but the headaches that I had been suffering from went down from a 4-5 (that I lived with for the last 3 months in Bogota) to a 1-2 (on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being mild with no real need for medicine and a 10 being in bed, in the dark, doing nothing). By evening, I was finally able to unpack most of the suitcases. Thursday, I was able to go out to McDonald's with my mother-in-law and kids, but I couldn't make one round through "Hobby Lobby" without begging to sit. Slowly, each day, the effects of living in a high altitude AND being pregnant, began to wear off. God help me if my children's grandmother had not had the patience to be there for my kids because I was so tired from the trip that it would have been peanut butter jelly sandwiches every meal.

Only today did I begin to feel more like myself, like the person I was at the beginning of July...before I had returned to Bogota. Morning sickness was waning, there were no headaches, and I didn't feel tired. It was like before I had left for Bogota on July 9. By July 14, permanent headaches had set in, morning sickness had lasted until 2pm, and exhaustion came whenever I choose to walk a block. As much as the doctors decided to pretend that altitude had nothing to do it, I read numerous articles about how high altitude creates all these symptoms...and that's for all people, not just pregnant women.

So officially, Friday, November 4, this is my first day that I have felt like my old self since July 9th. Almost 4 months of being sick.

I do believe in the power of positive thinking. September and October, when I suffered most from the migraines, I tried to use the power of positive thinking to ward off feeling depressed about being sick for so long. It helped, but it wasn't a cure.

Missing Life

Steve Jobs just died. One guy in many thousands of deaths and we find out about him because of his amazing accomplishments that have impacted our lives. I do not personally know Steve. Most of us didn't have an opportunity to know this eccentric guy, but after he died, I had a wake up call. I've been miserable since I arrived back home July 9 with migraines, nausea, and never-ending exhaustion. I saw whole days disappear and my creativity dried up. I was frustrated and upset that as a do-er, I could only be a sitter. Or better, a layer-downer. I know, that's not a word, but for so many weeks I was forced to lay down or throw up. Lay down or have a headache. I hated it!

Then I changed my attitude. It's not because of Steve Job's passing, but it coincided with it. I realized that I had to think in terms of minutes, not hours or days. If I had a good 15 minutes of no headaches or nausea, I prioritized and did the things that mattered the most to me. Read to my kids, snuggle with them, listen to my teenager, talk to my Mom, watch t.v. with my husband...all those other things could wait. Sure, it was very hard at first to change my habits and I fought the entire way when I watched piles of messes grow, but there were no other options. It was not easy. In fact, to tell a person who is type A to become type C is murder.

But, I survived! And now, I use the minutes of feeling good to the best of my ability and am more content. I don't like only have minutes each day, but at least I have those. Steve Jobs no longer has those minutes. I have minutes.

I'm no longer missing life!

Ok, I made a decison.

I didn't even make it to the bed.

I made my decison. Sometimes, when a decision comes to me, I am ready to accept it.

I have complained about blogs. I have questioned their existences. I have died of boredom writing mine because I was oh so worried about what I should write about, keeping it child friendly.

I didn't realize that the blog was drowing in a pool of drool.

It's time to beef it up a bit and stop worrying about it being a professional blog. Let me just have some fun, post other blogs, write about the books I am reading, and live!

After I get some sleep...went hiking for 4 miles today (round trip) to see a beautiful waterfall in Pembroke, Virginia. Tired. Carried a 15 pound backpack with a 30 pound baby and 15 pounds of goods on my back...so that was 60 pounds of stuff on my back for 2 miles (Dad gave me a break and carried the baby down in the pack minus the stuff). Yeah, espalda duele.

Crossroads

I should be in bed right now. It's almost 9pm and I could get a guaranteed 8 hours of sleep. Instead, I feel that it's time to start writing a little bit in my "blog" instead of ignoring it as I have done for so many months.

My husband doesn't approve of blogs. He says it gives away too much private information. I believe that it is up to the individual.

I think blogs are nice ways to meet new people. I have met some lovely people along my journey in life and have often wished I took the time to attach their blogs on my blog in case I wanted to read them again or share them with other people.

But then, I go back to the original idea of having a blog...which was to write...

So I am at a crossroads. Which way do I go. Share other blogs or write my own thoughts and happenings online.

You know, now that I am writing, I think I have to go sleep on this answer. I know it will come to me...but I need to sit on "it" awhile.

Obstacles

Twenty days ago I wrote in my blog about just some miscellaneous things because I was just about to change apartments. It was 10 days before I would officially be completely moved in to my new apartment. I like moving, it's fun and it's something that is in my blood. Still, I have to think that after living here in Bogotá for just six months, I was not looking forward to changing apartments so soon.

I was without Internet for a week, I didn't know where any of my art supplies were, and then, to make every thing a little crazier, my hand decided one day to stop working. It forgot my age. Suddenly I had empathy for people who lose the ability to write with their hands, and for over 10 days I struggled to type with the hand that just wasn't getting the message that it was time to write. For me, this was a horrible experience because I love to write articles for magazines, children stories, my blog, and my spec script. I also take classes, but found that I couldn't post the work that I wanted to submit. Those 10 days were very difficult for me as I struggled with my new handicap and I realized how lucky I had been to have two hands to type with all this time.

Is my hand better? Yes, little by little my hand in getting back to the way it used to be. Still, I wonder, if I had been born with a deformed hands or the inability to write because of a neurological disorder, would I have attempted to become a writer? I had always thought that my desire, my obsession to write was because it was in my blood, but if I had grown up with the inability to write, would I be a writer today? I have overcome many obstacles in regards to becoming a writer, but I may never know the answer to this question.